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Monday, January 14, 2013

V6:Chapter Ten-Tin Tune

Volume Six

Chapter
Ten

Tin
Tune

In
which Dodger hears the good, the bad and the ugly

Instead
of the barrel of a pistol, or any other weapon for that matter, Dodger looked
down into the weathered face of an elderly man. A slim and short fellow, the
man bore the uniform of a postal officer. He also looked about as tired as
Dodger felt.

The
old-timer recoiled from Hortense and said, “Don’t shoot.”

Dodger
disengaged the hammer on his gun, but kept her at hand, just in case. “Who are
you?”

The
man gave Dodger a little salute. “I’m Gabriel Watkins, with the U.S. Post
Office. I know this sounds a bit strange, but I was told to meet this train
here around noon or so.” Watkins let out a nervous giggle. “I didn’t believe a
train would actually be here, seein’ how there is no line for miles. But here
you are. Imagine that.”

“Come
on inside, Mr. Watkins,” the doc said.

The
postal officer eyed the interior just beyond the door, and the crew behind
Dodger, before he shook his head furiously. “No, sirree. That’s quite all
right. I think I can conduct my business from out here just fine. Besides, I
don’t like to leave Lady alone for too long. She gets nervous if she thinks I’m
fooling around on her.”

Dodger
leaned far enough out of the doorway to catch sight of a pacing nag just a few
feet away. “Fine, then. What business do you have with us?”

“I
come in the line of duty, sir.” The older man reached into his sack, rummaging
around until he pulled forth a tube-shaped package. “I have a delivery for a
Mr. Rodger Dodger, at the residence of one …” The man paused as he struggled to
read the strange word on the package. “Slipnear?”

With
a satisfied smile for getting as near as he could to what he thought was the
name of the train, he held out the brown paper-wrapped tube. Dodger made a grab
for the package, but the geezer was too fast. He yanked it back to himself,
giving Dodger the old evil eye of suspicion.

Dodger
held out his hand. “I’m Dodger.”

“You
got any proof of that?” the man asked.

“We
can vouch for him,” the doc said.

Watkins
peered into the cab at the gathered crew again. “Well, I guess since you got so
many folks on your side, I can take that as proof.” The man produced a pad of
paper from his sack and poked a fountain pen under Dodger’s nose. “Sign here,
here and here.”

Dodger
took up the offered pen and signed.

This
seemed so satisfy the postal sentinel. He put away his paperwork and passed the
package off to Dodger. Touching his fingers to his cap, he nodded to Dodger and
then to the crew. “You folks have yourselves a good day. Enjoy your delivery.”
And with that, the man returned to his mare and galloped away.

Dodger
rejoined the crew in the cab, shutting the door behind him.

“What
a strange little man,” the doc said.

“Indeed,”
Dodger said. He turned the tubular package over and over in his hands,
wondering what it held.

“Well?”
Boon asked. “You gonna stare at it all day or open it?”

“Should
he?” Lelanea asked. “What if this is the trap?”

“Shoundsh
about right,” Ched said. “Shome maniac paid a broken-down poshtal worker to
ride up here on hish broken-down horsh jusht to deliver a tube of dynamite with
a really long fushe that goesh all the way back to hish hidey hole. Makesh
perfect shensh.”

Lelanea
cut her eyes at the driver. “Must you always be so pedantic?”

“Dependsh.”

“Depends
on what?”

“Dependsh
on what that word meansh.”

“You
are so infuriating.”

“Just
open it,” Boon said with all the excitement of a child.

“Don’t.
We have no idea what that thing is.”

“Actually,”
the doc said, “I think I know exactly what it is.”

“How
can you possibly know?” Lelanea snapped.

“Because
I have seen that kind of packaging before.” The professor held out his hands.

Dodger
thought better of it, but handed the thing over to his employer all the same.

The
doc pulled away the bindings and the paper, unwinding the tube with care. Beyond
the brown paper wrappings lay a black wooden drum. The doc twisted the top of
the drum, turning aside the lid as he peered into the tube. “Ah, just as I
thought. Mr. Torque, I need you.”

The
metal man whistled with discontent. “What is it now?”

“Get
over here and open up.”

“Why?”

“Because
I suspect this contains a message for us.” The doc slid yet another tube from
the depths of the first one. Smaller than the outer container, the second tube
was made of metal, and was covered in a plethora of thin scratches.

“What
is it?” Dodger asked.

“It’s
an ARC.”

“Looksh
more like a shylinder,” Ched said.

“ARC
stands for Audio Recording Cylinder,” the doc explained. “I’ve been toying with
the idea of recording sound onto a transportable substance for years. A young friend of mine up north got wind of it, and he has all but begged me to explain how
the process works. I’ve tried to put him off, but he keeps sending me message
tubes, making little improvements along the way with each recording, requesting
my input. I usually ignore him. You see, he prefers to record on tin, just like
this ARC, while I suspect wax would work better in the grander scheme of
things. But you can’t tell young Tom he’s wrong.”

“How
did he know you would be here?” Dodger asked.

“Oh,
no, this isn’t from him. I am certain of that. He never sends a message without
an accompanying letter, you see. Just in case the cylinder is ruined in
transit. It is my guess that our mutual acquaintance has also borrowed the
notion, just as he has helped himself to my other ideas. Now, Torque, be a dear
and open your side panel. We need to give this a listen.”

The
doc growled. “Either open your side panel, or I swear I will shove this up
another orifice.”

“Shove
it up your own orifice!”

“Swordfish,”
Feng said.

Mr.
Torque went relaxed and silent at the shutdown code.

“Sorry,
Hieronymus,” Feng said. “I know you hate it, but time is of the essence.”

With
a sigh, the doc pressed on Torque’s chest, releasing the manual input panel.
“You know, sometimes I wonder why I even bothered with giving him a personality
to begin with. All he ever does is argue. But I suppose that is part of his
charm.”

“Charm
ish one word for it,” Ched said.

“Do
us all a favor, Chester, and spare us your other words for it. Thank you very
much.” After the doc finished pressing a few keys, he said, “Torque, can you
hear me?”

“Yes,
sir,” Torque said in a flat monotone. The metal man’s eyes lit with each hollow
word.

Dodger
could understand why the doc preferred the so-called charm of the fully
functional Mr. Torque. The lifeless voice and blinking eyes of the mechanical
butler’s manual mode gave Dodger the willies. Mr. Torque may have been a royal
pain in the rump, but this thing was a soulless hunk of metal. All clockwork
and no life.

“Excellent,”
the doc said. “Open your side panel and load this cylinder, if you please.”

With
jerky movements, Torque took the tin cylinder from his master and placed it
into a small opening in his right side. There came a few clicks and a soft
whirring sound. “Shall I play back at the usual prescribed speed?”

“Yes.
One hundred and twenty revolutions per minute, I believe. We can adjust as
needed.”

“Of
course, sir.” Torque obeyed, adjusting his settings with another few internal
clicks.

From
Torque’s mouthpiece, just under its wiry mustache, there came the soft strains
of music. Music Dodger would’ve recognized anywhere.

“Is
that a viola?” the doc asked.

“Violin,”
Dodger corrected the man. He closed his eyes and drifted along on the strings
of his favorite bit of music in all the world. “It’s from Antonio Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons. This is the last of the concertos. The one he called L’inverno.”

“The
sheashon of winter,” Ched said.

Everyone
stared at the driver, eyes wide with wonder.

“What?”
Ched asked. “You’re the only one allowed to be a shmarty pantsh? Show I know a
little Italian. Big deal.”

“It
is quite a big deal,” the doc said. “A very big deal indeed.”

The
driver shrugged away the professor’s admiration.

“I
trust you are familiar with the tune, Mr. Dodger,” the doc said.

“This
isn’t just any old tune, sir,” Dodger said. “It’s the song my mother used to
play for me. It was our song. Speaking of which, Torque, it should be a touch
faster.”

Torque
shifted the speed at Dodger’s commands until the melody sounded just right.

“Why
would shomeone shend a shylinder to the Schleipnir with your shong on it?” Ched
asked.

“That
is a very good question,” the doc said.

“Coincidence,”
Lelanea pronounced. “Lots of people like Vivaldi.”

“I’m
not so sure,” Boon said. “Lots of folks like a rousing round of Row, Row, Row
Your Boat, but you don’t hear that playing, do you?”

Over
their arguing, Torque said, “Good morning, crew.”

Everyone
went quiet as they turned as one toward the mechanical man.

“It
is good to finally address you,” Torque said with a light Southern lilt

Only
it wasn’t Torque. Dodger knew without being told that it was the man he had
come to see. The voice belonged to none other than Commander Rex.

“I
realize this kind of message can come across as a bit cold, so I have spruced
it up with a bit of music. I hope you like it. I enjoy a helping of Vivaldi now
and again. It has recently come to my understanding that you do as well, Mr.
Dodger.”

Dodger
glanced to Lelanea, who stared back in sheepish silence.

“First
of all,” the man continued, “I would like to commend Feng for reaching out to
me. I was hoping you would seek my location, and you did not disappoint. Thank
you for being so predictable and for making this all the easier for us.”

“Son
of a …” Feng whispered.

“Mr.
Dodger,” Rex said over Feng’s expletive. “I realize you must be anxious to get
this little tête-à-tête over with, so let’s not waste any more time. To your
delight, you will find the town of Celina abandoned. Not a soul around for
miles and miles. But that is the way you like it, yes? To be all alone in the
middle of nowhere? No friends or family. No innocent bystanders to make you
feel guilty should things take a violent turn. And things always take a violent
turn when you’re involved, do they not, Mr. Dodger?”

The
chuckle that rolled out of Torque’s mouthpiece set Dodger’s skin to crawling.

“There
is a boarding house in the middle of town,” Rex said once his laughter wound
down. “I will be waiting for you in the building out back. You will come alone
and unarmed, or you will not come at all. Any attempts at the contrary will be
met with hostility the likes of which you have never seen. Do hurry, Mr.
Dodger. Other appointments await me.”

The
volume of the music swelled until the whole thing cut out cold, leaving a cloud
of eerie silence to fill the cab.

“Arrogant
bastard,” Lelanea said.

“Ludda!”
the doc gasped.

“Well,
he is.” She crossed her arms and set her jaw, unapologetic for her words.

“Yes,”
Feng said. “He also seems to know an awful lot about us for a man we’ve never
met.”

“I
admit that is strange,” the doc said. “I can’t imagine how he learned so much
about us. Or Dodger, for that matter. And in such a short amount of time. Why,
I wonder-”

“Sorry,
sir. I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I will
let that man think he knows the first thing about me. I’ve told y’all more
about me than I have told anyone in a good while.” Dodger rubbed at the back of
his neck as he admitted, “More than I thought anyone ever would, and I sorta want
to keep it that way.”

The
professor’s face softened to an understanding smile. “Certainly. You know that
road goes both ways, Mr. Dodger.”

“I
sure do, sir.” Dodger loosened his gun belt and let the girls slide off of his
hips before he passed the whole works to Lelanea.

She
took it with some hesitation. “You can’t be serious? You can’t go in there
unarmed. He will kill you for sure.”

“Something
tells me that if he wanted me dead, I would already be dead. This Rex says he
just wants to talk, so we’ll talk. I’ll go have a word with him and be back
before you know it.” Dodger touched his fingers to his hat once again, nodding
his farewell to the group. “Best not keep our host waiting.”

“If
you aren’t back by noon,” Lelanea said, “then I will come looking for you. I
can track you far better than Uncle’s gadget.”

“Thanks.”
Dodger grinned at his family. “Keep those flapjacks hot for me.”

His
family smiled back.

Dodger
let the door close softly behind him before he dropped the smile. There was no
humor in the task ahead of him. No joy to take in this fateful meeting. Even
the prospect of returning Boon’s spirit to his body left Dodger more worried than
pleased. With a steady crunch of dirt under his boots, he put the Sleipnir
behind him and kept his face toward the abandoned town of Celina.